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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606822">Front Row, Slouched Low</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy'>thegoodthebadandthenerdy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Vandal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Friendship, Gen, Prompt Fill, Short &amp; Sweet, Theatre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:34:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodthebadandthenerdy/pseuds/thegoodthebadandthenerdy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenna Hawthorne is avoiding a lot of things, like actually befriending her roommate and consequently getting sucked into going to one of his shows. Her plans backfire, but when do they not?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Ecklund &amp; Jenna Hawthorne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Front Row, Slouched Low</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The original prompt for this was from @grasslandgirl as: “Would you,” Sam hesitated, pulling his hat off his head and fiddling with his hair unconsciously, “would you want to come to my show?” </p><p>I ended up remixing that a little bit but here's the outcome! The Sam and Jenna friendship I've built in my mind will never cease to be the funniest thing ever</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam slapped his hat down on the counter the second he walked in the door and made a beeline for where Jenna was thrown across the couch. He took up residence at the foot of it in short order, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.</p><p>"Okay, so, uh," he started, looking up at the ceiling. Nervousness rolled off him in waves, an odd thing for him. If he started messing up his hair she'd have to call an ambulance. "Do you maybe wanna come to my show?" he blurted in one admirable breath. When she didn't immediately start raining down fire and brimstone he took the leap and looked down.</p><p>Fingers at a slant over her phone, she kept her eyes on the screen for a long second. When Sam's own gaze didn't stop boring into the peak of her head she sighed thunderously and peeked up, lips pinched. </p><p>An exasperated "What?" clipped between her teeth, but he was too <em>trained in her ways</em> and didn't even bother to flinch at her venom. Show off.  </p><p>Or maybe he did, and she just couldn't see it through the flush cracking up his face in quick bursts, splotching his cheeks and ears, rosy on the backs of his harried hands. She crossed her legs at the ankle, shoving socked feet against the arm of the couch to try and knock his attention back to the task at hand. He didn't jump at that either and she thought they were spending too much time together for it.</p><p>"I'm trying to expose you to good theatre," he said, "It'll build your character." </p><p>Barking-loud Jenna laughed, all the way up to her eye teeth. "I know good theatre, you shit."</p><p>Mother Mary did she know good theatre. The first time she could vividly remember expressing an emotion that wasn't simple childhood-pleasantness was at the tender age of six, bawling her fucking eyes out in uncomfortable theatre seating to a stage production of some show she was definitely way too young for. Not that her parents minded, business was done before and after and during intermission, everything else registered so low on their radar it fell off the face of the earth.</p><p>Shedding his nervousness for a clean fight he knew he could doubtlessly win was easy for Sam and he did it with near grace. As much grace as he could when he walked around like a baby giraffe and talked like a cartoon character from 1998.</p><p>"Okay, resolved: a Catholic high school production of like, Into the Woods, is pushing it on a scale of good theatre. Maybe a solid four. I'm talking at <em>least</em> a seven here if we can get Vincenzo over his stage fright."</p><p>She swiped her thumb over her screen to keep it from timing out and to give herself something to do instead of shooting back her quickly-crafted debunking in seconds flat. Overzealous was not her color, oh no.</p><p>With one sharp movement, she shot her eyes to his and said, "First of all, they wouldn't let us do Into the Woods because the witch was too like, 'alternative' or whatever, so it was Joseph and the Technicolor Dream-thing. Secondly--stupid rich parents, remember? I'm cultured as fuck. Like, did you know I'm a fan of opera? And yeah, before you say it, I hate that about me, too."</p><p>Tucking her nose toward her chest, she tightened her jaw. She would not be won over by being invited to some poorly paced Sondheim production, okay? She had spent too many months specifically not giving into that particular impulse, so she'd be damned if she gave up now. If Sam thought he was wiggling his way into friendship then he was sorely mistaken.</p><p>"Fine, whatever." He nudged half-heartedly at the couch frame, probably doing more damage to his Vans than the actual fabric. Their couch was a streetside behemoth. "I think Aliesha needed some extra tickets anyway." </p><p>Sighing morosely, he did the thing.</p><p>Fucking shit. Shit-fucking-hell-shit. He was doing the look, which was less puppy-dog and more ASPCA- in-the-arms-of-the-angels-for-twenty-five-cents-a-day. She had seen grown adults break under that look. She had seen the biggest asshole of a professor to ever walk the earth grant an extension because of that look. <em>What a dick,</em> she thought with a smile. <em>Solid move.</em></p><p>Six months ago Jenna was like, two days shy of being homeless when she met Sam. Well, actually, she met Peter at the bulletin board while putting up the notice for a roommate and then Peter introduced her to Sam who was also in need of someone to split the bills with because administration had fucked up his financial aid paperwork and he was similarly short on resources.</p><p>When she'd actually met him she thought he was probably her best (and only) option and didn't think much more of it out of her well-honed self-preservation skills. She had no money, she needed a roommate, enough said. The worst thing he did was sing too loud in the shower, but he could mostly keep it in key so even that went right over her head.</p><p>What she hadn't expected was how persistent he'd be. She'd designated him as one of those freaks that liked to actually befriend theur roommates after living with him for only twelve hours--and had even considered crashing on someone's couch as much as possible, but that defeated the purpose of paying for the apartment so she vetoed the idea--but she figured she was resilient enough to withstand his attempts. She had, at most, acquaintances from whom she borrowed notes, and coworkers that she nurtured strong distaste for. Her social calendar was too full for Sam Ecklund and by extension she felt his should be too full for her.</p><p>Because Sam had people. He had, frankly, too many people, but given that she had none her data might've been a bit skewed. Even the most eloquent of mathematicians had to side with her here though. A long-standing boyfriend, a metric shit ton of friends, theatre stuff, and classes should be <em>plenty</em> for one person.</p><p>But Sam, when he had the time, mostly lived to prove her wrong. Whether it was times like this or the simple fact of making way too many Froot Loops fit in one tiny-ass bowl that by all accounts they shouldn't be able to. With milk. And not a single spilled drop.</p><p>Oh god, wrong thought--his face looked like someone crying over spilled milk. Worse, it was like Cindy Lou Who to her shriveled Grinch heart. Seriously, she could hear it thawing in there, feel the water splattering on her organs. </p><p>Cautiously, so as not to give him too much leeway, she muttered, "When even is it? I'm busy a lot," just to get him to stop.</p><p>"Friday at seven. And also, I call bullshit--name the last time you were busy."</p><p>"Fuck you, Ecklund, I'm busy right now."</p><p>"You're literally just playing Bejeweled Blitz on your phone, I can see your screen in the reflection on the TV."</p><p>"No you can't." Furtively, she closed out the game and clicked over to her notes app, typing <em>can you see this, fucker? 🖕</em> as fast as her hands would take her.</p><p>"Oh, real mature, Jenna." But he was grinning and yeah, she was kinda grinning too. Sam was persistent, most days, in a way she could compute. Kinda snarky, kinda show-offy, not afraid to put on the water works. Just like her if she wasn't so fucking repressed. </p><p>She rolled her eyes heaven-high, mascara tracks plodding behind on her lids. Her ending up like Sam in some mirror-verse was almost terrifying enough to make her rethink the conclusion she was slowly drawing to. <em>Almost.</em></p><p>"Whatever, I guess I'm not busy Friday."</p><p>Sam rocked forward hard onto his hands, leaning half over the couch like looking any closer at her face would reveal the gotcha hiding underneath. A new flush came over him and he grinned, blinding and goofy. "Holy shit, really?"</p><p>Some sad, stunted part of Jenna grinned back on the inside--definitely not on the outside--friendly affection almost letting it escape. There was no sense in letting this go to his head too much, lest he think it might become a repeat occurence. She could only watch so much bad acting while silently fuming that he didn't get the lead despite being the best actor onstage so many times before she fought the director and got them both thrown out. And God, she could not listen to him sadly croon showtunes on the couch, he needed an outlet. </p><p>(Okay, so maybe she had paid attention when he had his friend Gabi over to run lines, but that was just because she thought Gabi was cute and not because she cared if Sam was any good or not.)</p><p>"Don't push it."</p><p>Rocking back onto his heels, he tucked his hands under his arms and nodded academically. "No, yeah, right, of course. Wouldn't want anyone to know you inspire anything other than fear or jealousy."</p><p>She gave him an approving tug of her chin, but added, just in case, "If you tell anyone how fast I flipped I'm shaving your eyebrows off while you sleep."</p><p>He shrugged. "Fair enough. Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Hawthorne."</p><p>"The pleasure's yours to take." </p><p>When he turned his back, her face broke into a real smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm on tumblr @professcrlupin !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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